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Found 2,384 dreams containing rain - Page 68


Explore a collection of the latest dreams shared by our community. Discover common themes, intriguing narratives, and unique symbolism. From vivid adventures to thought-provoking scenarios, these recent dreams offer a glimpse into the subconscious mind and may even spark insights into your own dream world. Browse the "Latest Dreams" to find inspiration, connect with others, and delve deeper into the fascinating realm of dreams.

I was dreaming that I was in a giant store with lots of people and I remember putting an umbrella over my head(I don't know why).A break-up song was playing and so in my dream. Some guys were singing a long to it too so I started to sing to it, but once I did that, a girl was came from out of nowhere. She sat down across from and I cover my head with the umbrella. I slowly move it up just to see if there was anything I could see that give me a hint of who it is. She had a pony tail on and wore a beige rain coat. She was wearing black heels and on her umbrella, there was a name but I tried to figure out who's name was on there, but once the song ended, I woke up. Can you give me any ideas as to who that girl was? She looked pretty short too, based off of her silhouette.

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I was walking in the woods and it was rainy, foggy, and muddy. The woods led to a previous friend's house, once I realized this I turned around back into the woods. A little into the woods there was my friend Emma, she kissed me and out of nowhere there was a four wheeler stuck in the mud, then my previous friends' brother came back to tell me she wasn't home and gave me a cigarette. After that I somehow ended up in a whore house with my boyfriend , and our friend cassidy and mookie. cassidy was dressed as a stripper and then began to have sex with my boyfriend in front of me

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I was traveling through the Middle East, a rare sight of a woman alone with her children. Everywhere we went, small children with large, dark, haunted eyes would watch my son and daughter as they laughed easily, teased each other and tried to talk to one another in Arabic from a small red phrasebook. One day we sat on a hot, dusty, crowded train. As the vista flashed by outside the window, a young boy, close to the same age as my son, sat across from us with his father. He watched quietly, seriously, as my children giggled, poked at one another and pointed out goats, mountains and beautiful rolling dunes awash in browns, soft pinks and ochers. My daughter turned to the boy and spoke a short phrase to him - "Hello; how are you?" - and suddenly he smiled, huge brown eyes lighting up and his face transformed into that of a beautiful and carefree young man. He began to answer when his father, eyes flashing, gave him a sharp reprimand in the universal language that every parent understands, the tone conveying words I understood in a language I could not. The boy cast his eyes downward. I looked at the man and attempted his language. "I'm sorry and it is not my business yet...why is it not alright for our children to speak with one another?" He looked at me and, with a small sigh, said "Our children are not the same." I said, "We are not wealthy people; you have no reason to dislike us." He barked a short laugh and said, "You, wealthy? You have riches. We -" he pointed at his breast, "we have wealth. We have the wealth that comes from true knowledge of our Creator, of our thousands of years of history, of our struggles. Of our losses. Of our families, of our heritage, of our culture. Your children have riches. Riches of the promise of a future. My son has wealth. But the promise of a future...?" He raised his arms heavenward in a fatalistic gesture and slowly turned his head to look out the window of the train. His proud face looked resigned yet strangely at peace. I woke up with tears running down my face.

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In my dream I lived in huge, ever-changing house. We had to escape my barbie dolls because they were coming to life. I went to warn a famous Ukrainian poet, and came across a roofless room. Against four wooden pillars there was standing the poet, a king, a queen, and Poison from street fighter. Whenever I would talk to them some sort of death with the pillars would occur. So me, my mom, my grandparents, my uncle, my aunt, and my little cousin, fought the dolls and escaped the house.

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